


a raid, a glade, and getting laid

by saltandlimes



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blow Jobs, First Time, Historical References, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: It is the age of the Vikings, when the Danes cross the North Sea to harry the Saxons who have ruled the British Isles for four hundred years. Thor and his brothers Loki and Baldr are among them. Yet not all raids are simple, and sometimes, things get lost along the way. (The thing is Loki, and Thor - his daring rescuer.)
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111
Collections: Thorki Baby Bang 2020





	a raid, a glade, and getting laid

**Author's Note:**

> +Find wonderful art by horns4Loki here!

Thor stares down at the hammer in his lap, his lips pursed and his eyes narrow. Little flashes of light sparkle across the surface, little sparks flying from the first into the night air above him. All around, the camp bustles. People cross the packed ground carrying leathers to be patched, or swords to be sharpened. Thor looks up. A knot of old men gather around their own small fire, warming their gnarled hands. All them have hair white as the snow that covers some of the ground around the camp, but their bared forearms are corded with muscles almost as thick as Thor’s own. He smiles at them for a moment, then looks back down at his hammer. 

“All alone on the night of battle,” comes a whisper from behind him.

Thor forces himself not to jump. He takes a deep breath, then looks over his shoulder. 

“You are fortunate I did not send my hammer through your skull, brother mine.”

Loki slides out of the shadow into the circle of light around Thor’s small fire. He crouches next to Thor, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You would never do such a thing,” he says. His voice is light, but when Thor looks over there is a softness in his eyes. Thor always misses that look the moment it disappears, the way that Loki’s arms seem to wrap about him and his head rest on Thor’s shoulder without a single move, the way that his whole body heats up the longer Loki looks at him. It is all too rare an occurrence for Thor’s taste. 

“No, I would not,” he says. 

“So what is Thor, the great Thor, doing all on his own this night?”

“Should I not be preparing for the raid?”

Loki reaches out, grabbing a chunk of bread from the bowl Thor abandoned earlier. He rips a piece off, his white teeth sparkling in the firelight. 

“Is this preparing?” Loki waves the chuck of bread at the hammer in Thor’s lap, the leather half wrapped around the handle. “Wrapping your shaft in leather?” He chuckles, then licks his lips. “Do you not usually wrap it in flesh?”

Thor’s head whips around, his eyes widening. 

“Do not think I am so innocent as that, Thor. I am a man grown, and have been for years now. I have noticed. I have _heard_.”

Sweat beads on Thor’s forehead, his cheeks flushing bright. He bites his lip. 

“If I have disturbed you…” he trails off. 

“Who do you think I am, to complain of disturbance of that sort the night before a raid?” Loki shakes his head. “No, Thor, even I would not do such a thing. All I wish to know is why not tonight.”

“I did not… I did not feel the need,” Thor says. In truth, he has no idea. Earlier that day, he had thought of going to Hledis, or perhaps Geirny. Both often wished a tumble the night before battle. Yet there had been something that stopped him. He did not know what, but after he and Loki had spent some time sparing earlier, he had forgotten all about Hledis, and had simply begun to prepare for the next day. 

“Well then, you need not hide yourself away here just to escape the women. I am sure they will not trouble you if you simply talk to them.” Loki laughs. “Rather the opposite. You’re rather interesting when you actually use that brain in your pretty head.”

Thor starts. 

“That was a compliment,” he says. 

“Perhaps it was,” Loki grins. He stands, his long legs unfolding, his dark leathers blending back into the darkness just beyond Thor’s little fire. “Well, Thor, are you coming? There are many fires more joyful than this.”

“In a little while,” Thor says. “Just a little bit.”

***

The next morning is clear and bright. Thor is grateful for the ash smeared under his eyes as they slip towards the Saxon town. Its low wall is visible from here, but the gate stands open, and no guards pass back and forth in front of it. Thor brushes a strand of hair away from his forehead. It has been falling down of late, and he has found himself needing to fix it at the most inconvenient times. 

The raiders spread out, a few of his fellows brandishing torches. The Saxons have only been here a few years, and their wooden balustrade is not yet reinforced with stone in the way that Thor has seen outside older Saxon towns. They spread wide, a few placing the torches against the wooden polls that make up the wall. They are dry as a bone after the last few weeks without rain or snow. The crackle of the wood is loud in the calm before battle. 

Thor leaps forwards, his hammer ready. The air grows thick as he steps inside the walls of the town. The Saxons must have finally realized they are under attack, because a man in a helm rushes to meet him. His shield weathered, and there is a crack along the edge. The long knife he brandishes at Thor, however, is polished to a mirror sheen. Thor dodges to one side, the knife slicing through the air next to him. He pushes forward, his hammer swinging into the edge of the other man’s shield. Beside him, he hears Sif shout in triumph. He cannot turn to see her victory, however, because even as the man’s shield shatters, his knife comes up and reaches towards Thor’s ribs. He twists out of the way just in time and brings the hammer down on the man’s shoulder, sending him careening sideways, a scream on his lips. 

Thor presses forwards, sending his hammer wide out to the side. It hits ribs somewhere near him, but he hardly notices. There are more important things to think about. In front of him is a spearman. A foot of iron is pointed straight at his heart, and Thor cannot focus on anything but the way it darts towards him. A grunt from somewhere nearby almost draws his focus, but when he hears Volstagg’s deep growl of victory, he breathes a quick sigh of belief. 

The spear jabs forwards, and Thor twists forward, in towards the spearman’s body. He presses forward, turning the dodge into a lunge that leads him in close. The haft of his hammer is so much shorter than the spear, and he has to get close enough the spearman can’t use it. For a moment he thinks he’s managed, but then the spearman dances backwards. Thor swings, but he knows part of the way through the hammer’s arc that it won’t connect. 

Under his helmet, which sits slightly askew on his head, the spearman’s eyes are impenetrable. Thor bares his teeth as the Saxon darts forwards again, growling. This time, his dodge is a little slower, and he grunts. The spear has drawn a searing line along his ribs. Cold air rushes into his tunic. His body flares in pain, his stomach clenches, and Thor dives in towards the Saxon. A single furious blow throws the man backwards towards a wall, where he slumps, unmoving.

Thor spins around, looking for another man to fight, but the area is clear, groaning Saxons off at an edge of the little circle of houses, a few knocked unconscious or dead against walls. Thor takes a deep breath, looking down at his side. The mark on his ribs looks far less dire than he expected. It is little more than a scratch. He grabs a small pouch from his belt, untying it and scooping out the salve inside. Loki had given it to him a few weeks ago, and Thor smears it across the cut. It burns just as sharply as the initial hurt, but Thor breathes out a sigh of relief. This will keep the wound from festering. 

A carven door is just a few feet from the crumpled spearman. Thor shoves against it, and it flies open, banging against the indoor wall. There is no one inside, and Thor makes his way to a chest in one corner. 

The Saxons must have traded with some passing merchant lately. There is a beautiful cloth folded on top of the chest, and the lock is worked with silver filigree. So many of these Saxons live fat off their stolen land, ruling with no honor. Thor would be happy to cease the raids, if only the Saxons would fight honorably on the field of battle, or would share their lands fairly. But they will not, and so the raids continue. 

The lock is easy to knock away with his hammer and Thor pushes up the lid of the chest. Inside is another lovely clothes, more finely woven than the one atop the chest. He lifts it out, admiring the dark blue wool. It will make Loki a fine present, a gift in thanks for the salve, or perhaps simply a sign of how much he appreciates his younger brother. Thor tucks it away into the satchel tied across his back. There are more narrow bands of woven linen, crossed with threads of gold and silver. Thor adds those to his bag as well. They will serve to tie back his hair, and perhaps Thor could gift one to Hledis. He quickly dismisses the idea. It would only make Geirny or one of the others jealous. 

He turns to survey the rest of the house. There is little else of value here. A few gold trinkets that he hardly thinks are worth the effort to carry, a long knife that he tucks into his belt. Nothing else to interest him. He steps back into the yard to find Fandral wiping his sword clean. 

“How goes the rest of battle?” Thor asks. 

“What battle?” Fandral scoffs. “They have all turn and run away, and there is hardly anything left worth the effort of coming.”

Thor grins. He does not like killing without need. Moreover, for the enemy to turn and run at the fury of their coming is yet another confirmation that the Saxons have no honor. 

“Then why do you tarry? Should you not be seeing if there is some prize to carry back to a sweet maid?”

Fandral smirks at Thor, sheathing his sword and rattling a bag at his waist. 

“Already have. More than enough for a few maids, as long as no one is greedy.” 

“No. Only you are.”

Fandral tosses his head, shaking his beautiful golden hair, but says nothing. Instead, he stands. Then he leads the way towards the smoking gate of the village. Thor follows. Better to leave now, and enjoy their spoils. 

***

The fire crackles in front of him, and Thor takes a deep drink from his beer. A little slops out onto beard, and Fandral snickers. Thor raises an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t see you laughing earlier, Fandral. All I saw was you trying to find some spoil great enough to finally win you a tumble.”

Volstagg chuckles, his loud laugh setting Sif off as well. Fandral’s eyes are huge, and he places his hands on his knees. 

“I’ll have you know that I need no trinkets to win me affection,” he says, sounding scandalized. 

“No?” Volstagg asks. “Are you planning on using your oh-so-famous looks?”

“If he were trying to catch a husband, I’m sure that lovely hair of his would help. Tell me Sif, will it win a wife?” Thor asks.

“I would not have trouble with either one, save that you, Thor, keep interfering!” Fandral protests. Thor laughs, reaching out and grabbing a lock of Fandral’s hair. 

“No? Then why do you spend so much time on this?” He asks, tugging it lightly. 

“Why do you keep talking about it?” Fandral fires back. He tries to bat Thor’s hand away, but Thor hangs on. Instead of dislodging him, Fandral manages to tip them both off their seats around the fire, sending them sprawling into the dirt. 

Thor swears softly, rolling over towards Fandral and trying to get a leg over his hips. Fandral squirms, managing to pin the hand Thor still has in his hair. Thor yelps, yanking his hand out from under Fandral’s head. He manages to get astride Fandral’s hips and tries to grab his wrist. Fandral grins, baring his teeth, and reaches up to grab Thor’s tunic. Thor has just an instant to steady himself as Fandral tries to flip them. 

They’re in the midst of tipping over when Sif clears their throat loudly above them. Thor pauses where he’s trying to get a knee between Fandral’s legs, and Fandral stops trying to press Thor’s shoulder into the ground. 

“Can we go back to celebrating now?” Sif asks. “Or are you two going to roll in the dirt all night?”

Fandral pushes himself up, using Thor’s chest for leverage. Thor sits up as well, brushing off his tunic and straightening it a little. 

“I suppose we could return to more enjoyable things,” Fandral says. 

Sif sighs. She sits back down next to Volstagg. 

“Why do I always get stuck with this sort of thing when Loki isn’t around?” she asks him. 

“Because you and he are the only ones who care,” Volstagg answers. “Where is he, Thor?”

“Loki?” Thor says. “I have no idea. Did he say what he was doing tonight to you, Fandral?”

“I haven’t seen him since the raid. He came a-viking with us, but he didn’t speak to me.”

“Have you seen him, Sif?” Thor asks. 

“Not at all. Not since last night, actually,” she tells him. 

Thor purses his lips. He hasn’t seen Loki either, not since his brother appeared out of the night and chided him about being alone. He heard his voice faintly at some point in his fight with the spearman, but that was all. He pushes himself up from where he’s still sitting in the dirt. 

“He has to be somewhere about,” he says. 

“Of course,” Volstagg agrees. “I’m sure we’ll see him later.”

Thor bites a lip. He looks about, trying to find Loki’s dark hair around one of the fires lit throughout the encampment. There is no sign of him. There is not a flicker of light from where Loki’s little tent stands next to the larger one Thor and Fandral share. 

Thor turns from the fire without a word. He crosses to the nearest knot of men, a grizzled company of seasoned fighters. They have not seen Loki tonight, he finds out quickly enough. Iadrik says that he saw Loki only once during the fight, facing off against several Saxons. Yet as Thor would have expected, Loki was having no trouble with such poor warriors as the Saxons often prove to be. 

Thor thanks them and turns away, walking to the next fire. They have not seen Loki either, nor has the third knot of people. He pulls back a tent flap to see sleeping warriors - none of them Loki. He interrupts a conversation about whether or not the return to the Mark would be an easy voyage to ask if Hledis has seen Loki, but she too has no idea where he is. 

Thor is almost running now, his heart racing with each new person who has no idea where Loki is. There seems not to be a single person who remembers him returning from the raid. Thor yanks open another tent and stops, stunned. There, just inside, is the very bare behind of his littlest brother. Balder is barely old enough to be raiding, and yet there he is, snapping his hips forward as he fucks deep into Gunnløg’s cunt. Thor can see every inch of Balder’s cock when he pulls out, and he blushes hard. This is something he never wanted to witness. He’s seen Loki fuck a girl before, but that was somehow different. This is Balder, his baby brother. The thought of Loki brings him back to the present, and he turns away, dropping the flap of the tent before either Balder or Gunnløg notice him. 

Thor runs through the camp now, calling Loki’s name at each dark corner or narrow space between tents. There is no answer anywhere. Just as he nears Volstagg’s tent, he trips, sprawling over the cord that holds it taut. He lands face-first in the dirt, and tastes blood. When he pushes himself up, a finger across his lips tells him one is split. 

He’s about to start running again when he feels Volstagg’s heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Where are you going, Thor,” Volstagg asks. 

“I can’t find Loki. Not in his tent, not anywhere.”

“He cannot be that far, my friend. Where else would he go in this land?”

“Are you telling me he’s hiding from us?”

“No, of course not,” Sif says. She’s come up next to Thor and puts another hand on his arm. “I’m sure he’s not ignoring you. But he can’t be that far away.”

“Can’t he?” Thor says. His heart beats loud in his chest. “No one’s seen him, Sif. No one at all.”

“It may be that he has chosen not to join the celebrations this night,” Volstagg offers. 

“He could be off somewhere alone,” Fandral adds in. 

“How can you say that?” Thor asks. “When has Loki abandoned us to our own carousing? When has he left me to celebrate alone?”

Fandral rolls his shoulders back and looks down, saying nothing. Sif’s hand tightens on Thor’s arm. 

“Maybe he got separated on the way back to camp. It wouldn’t be that hard in that deep wood.”

“Loki?” Thor scoffs, his voice high. “Loki get lost? Not a chance. No way. You know that, Sif.”

“And what, you think he’s hiding then?”

“No, of course not,” Volstagg assures him. 

Thor huffs. “Then what?” He pulls away from Sif and Volstagg, shaking himself off. “He should be back by now. He’s not. That’s all I know.”

***

Thor leaves the three of them at their fire, all of them protesting that he should at least give Loki until morning to reappear. He hardly hears their voices. Instead, his footsteps sound loud in his ears as he makes his way to a knot of old warriors. They are in their cups, laughing and carousing as though they were much younger. As Thor makes his way close, Styrkar beckons to him. 

“You look troubled, Thor. What ails you on this night of victory?”

“I cannot find my brother,” Thor tells the four of them. Two of them glance sideways at the tent where Balder must still be fucking Gunnlød. Thor shakes his head. “Loki. My brother Loki,” he clarifies. 

“Is he not with you and your friends, as oft is his wont?” Styrkar asks. 

Thor clenches his fist. He wants to shout that if Loki was with his friends, he wouldn’t be asking about him. Instead, he digs his nails into his palm.

“No.” He finds himself spitting the words, and takes a deep breath before he continues. “We have not found him. Not anywhere in the camp.”

“Who knows the ways of such as he?” Kjeld asks. “Perhaps he has some work to do upon this night.”

“Loki would never miss a celebration with me… with us,” Thor snaps back. He shifts back and forth on his feet for a second, then speaks again, “but I did not come here to argue. I am going to look for my brother. I thought perhaps one of you, wise in tracking, might join me.”

“And go to find Loki?” Kjeld scoffs. “When has anyone wanted to find Loki? Have you Gerwar? Or you, Styrkar?”

Gerwar laughs, but Styrkar raises an eyebrow. 

“Remember the wound on my leg that would not heal?” he says. “Loki gave me a potion that had me right again in a week, after a year of suffering. He is not so bad as you seem to think.”

Thor bites his tongue hard. The split in his lip throbs, but he can’t let the words gathering in his throat out to fight. There is no time to argue. Not now.

“But Thor,” Styrkar continues, “Loki is no child, but a man grown. You cannot protect him, as you did when you were both boys.”

“Do you remember,” Elif asks suddenly, “how you used to carry him about as a child, Thor?” He has remained silent throughout, but at his question, all eyes turn to him. “You used to take him with you everywhere, unwilling to let him out of your sight. Your mother was brought to distraction, especially once he could walk. You were always sneaking off somewhere together, always dragging each other into scrapes.’’

Styrkar’s white beard flutters with his guffaw. Gerwar, who has just taken a deep draught of ale, splutters, foam flecking her wrinkled skin. 

Thor throws up his hands in the air. This is not the time to be reminiscing. This is not the time to be mocking his and Loki’s childhood. 

“I will leave you to the mumblings of the old,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks away. If his mother was there, she would have had something to say about that, but Thor hardly cares. He has better things to do than worry about what _Kjeld_ and his friends think of him. Gerwar calls after him as he walks away, but he ignores her. They can tell him off once he finds Loki.

He’s halfway to the edge of camp, his footsteps heavy as he stomps off, when Fandral comes running up.

“What are you doing, Thor? Where are you walking alone, when you should be drinking with friends?”

“How can you ask that, Fandral?” Thor says. “Loki is your friend, your brother in all but name. Are you not worried? Do you not think we should go look for him? For that is what I am going to do.”

“Wait, Thor. Do not go into the night and the dark in this foreign land. At least wait until morning. Loki will surely be back then, and if he is not, we will find him then.”

“No,” Thor says. That is all, just no. 

Fandral opens his mouth to protest, but Thor waves a hand to cut him off. 

“You can either come, or get out of my way,” he says. Fandral puts his hands on his hips. 

“Thor-” he starts. 

Thor turns away. Fandral will follow, or he will not. Thor is going to find Loki. 

***

The trees reach down to brush against Thor’s cloak as he stalks through the forest. His legs started to protest only twenty minutes away from camp, strained from the day. Yet he pushes onward. Something brushes his forehead, and he swats at it, only to realize it’s actually his own hair. He growls to himself, but does not stop to push it back. 

A gap in the trees leads to a narrow trail. It is a bright night, and the moon shimmers on the forest floor. Thor’s footsteps crunch in a regular rhythm as dead leaves shatter under his feet. Some creature long ago passed this way, some great beast that forged a trail through the vastness of the woods. It has been maintained by the inhabitants of the forest, but it is nothing more than that, nothing more than a glimmer of clearer ground that means he can walk more easily. 

When they first went to the Saxon town, they took a longer route, passed through the forest in a winding path that took them towards their quarry. There is no roads from their camp to the town - they chose the camp for defensibility, after all. But Thor is only one man, not a raiding party, and he can move through the dense forest more easily than a whole group. 

Yet he must still take care. If he races down this dark trail, he will break an ankle, or fall into some hidden pool and drown. He cannot help Loki if he is lost in the forest. So he moves as quickly as he can, as fast as the night will let him. An owl calls somewhere in the distance, haunting sounds that drift along as Thor passes by. A deer startles, racing alongside Thor until it bounds across the track and into the distance. A bat swoops down, snatching something near a tree. They are all just passing moments, little things Thor barely notices. All of him is focused on reaching the Saxon town and retracing Loki’s steps from there. 

A branch almost hits him in the face, but Thor ducks at the last moment. He dodges to the right. Through the trees, he catches a glimpse of the Saxons’ wall. There is a low place not far off, where part of it burnt down. Thor stops in his tracks, almost holding his breath. There are faint flickers of light from inside the town, torches glitter in the night. He lets his breath out slowly. 

Thor picks his way through the undergrowth towards the town. The Saxons have cut the forest back for ten feet or more around the wall, and the earth there is hard-packed. Once Thor reaches it, his footsteps are silent. He creeps towards the low, blackened dip. When he peers over, he finds himself looking into the center of the town.

“Blessings on Mani, Hjúki, Bil, Iuthrbog and all the gods of the moon,” Thor whispers. It is light enough to see into the square. In the middle of it, Loki is tied to a post. His hands are behind himself and his feet are strapped tight to the trunk of some tall tree. 

At first, Thor is not so worried. Loki has been in tougher scrapes than this one, and escaped with east. He raises himself up a little to see better into the town. As he does, he catches sight of the bundles of firewood stacked at Loki feet, the dry brush packed in-between the wood. 

His heart beats as a drum in his chest. It pounds against his ribs, and white-hot fury fills his belly. Ribbons of fire shoot down his arms, as though all his veins had turned to molten rock. His fingers tense on the wood he’s holding, grinding it into ashy dust as he grits his teeth. He bites his lip so hard it splits again, and blood trickles over his chin. He will not let Loki be hurt in any way, not his brother, not Loki.

***

A bit of the wall crumbles in Thor’s clenched fist as he traces paths into the village with his eyes. He is almost settled on a course that will bring him up close to Loki while only forcing him to pass directly in front of a single window, when a villager comes out of one of the larger houses. 

“Forhwon cóme þū hér? Þū bist scandword scinnlæcan, eoten, egesgríma! We forbaernaþ þē; we útáþýdedon þē mið bælþracum!”1

He screams at Loki in a language Thor can scarce understand. He catches the words for some sort of witch, and for fire. More villagers pour out of the houses, yelling, screaming words that should mean nothing to Thor, but mean everything in this moment. Their cacophony blends together, a screaming mass. They men around Loki are worth nothing more than the dirt under his feet. 

Thor bares his teeth, and he lets go of the ruined wall to clench his fists at his side. No living man should hurl such abuse at his brother, in this language or his own. No one has the right to such offense. They stand and scream at Loki, but Loki’s face never changes. For all their terrible cries, he remains calms, his face a mask. Loki is not hurt by such charges from strangers. He does no evil with his power. 

Loki does, after all, have some skill, some talents at listening to the forests, at making potions that heal or hurt, and at reading runes. He is a seiðrmaðr, though none speak of such things in Thor’s hearing. They fear, Thor thinks, suggesting that a son of Odin would be so inclined. Or perhaps they fear that Thor would dare them to speak of Loki of such things. If Thor is quick to anger, Loki’s burns far hotter, and for far longer. No one angers Loki, not without truly good cause. And even if seidr is not perhaps what Loki _should_ practice, he has done far more good for them than they even know. 

He has read when the skies would open before a raid, and turned the clouds a little aside. He has calmed the seas for their ships, and spoken to the creatures of the deep for them. Thor once sat beside him at the edge of a waterfall, and watched as Loki spoke to a strömkarl as though they were friends of old. He had followed Loki deep into a forest and seen him call a vǫrðr out from a grave so old Thor had hardly known the mound was there. Loki is powerful, more powerful than these villagers know, or would believe. 

Thor lets out a long, soft sigh. He loosens the hand he has wrapped around his hammer, sinking a little lower behind the wall. Loki is far too powerful to be harmed by these hurled threats. The villagers will disperse after they have screamed their piece, and then Thor can steal into the square silently, and carry Loki to safety. 

All notions of that disappear, however, when he sees a man with a lighted torch step out from one of the buildings around the square. Behind him are two more, and then two more. They all begin to make their way through the crowd towards Loki, the villagers parting before them as though water before a ship. 

Thor is in the air before he even makes a choice to leap. He vaults over the crumbling wall, his feet landing with a thud on the other side. He’s off running before the dust settles from his landing. His hammer swings before him in great whirling arcs as he races towards Loki. He feels impacts as it connects with bodies, tremors that run up the haft and into his arm, but he hardly notices them. The people careen out of his way. He does not know if he knocks aside ten, or twenty, or only a few. All he can think of is getting to Loki, freeing Loki, rescuing Loki before he suffers any grievous harm. 

When he reaches the stake where Loki is tied, his belt dagger appears in his hand without thought. A glance lets him know it is the one he claimed just hours ago in this very town. Now it slices easily through the cords binding Loki to the stake. Thor grabs Loki’s hand the instant it is free, pulling him over the piles of wood. 

All around them men are yelling, screaming their fury through the night sky. Thor hears calls of “demons” all about them. He hears the clink of steel as some race away to gather their weapons. He ignores it all. He runs with Loki back the way he came, paying no more heed as the villagers that scream behind them. 

***

They run through the forest. Thor finds himself dragging Loki along for the first mile, but then Loki finds his feet. He digs in his heels, pulling Thor up short. Thor almost falls backwards, stumbling over a root just behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Thor hisses to Loki. “We have to run. They’ll be after us for sure.”

“Exactly,” Loki pants. “Exactly. So if we run straight back to camp, what will happen?”

Thor screws up his eyes. In the rush to free Loki from the Saxons, he had not considered that. He cannot put his friends in danger like that. 

“Then what? You propose we lose ourselves in these woods? I need not remind you of what lurks in trees like these.”

Loki shakes his head. “Of course not. But Thor, has a fight addled your brains? Or are they already so full of brawn that they cannot remember who you are with?”

“Why did I rescue you?” Thor asks, elbowing Loki lightly in the side. Loki winces, but grins. 

“I know the forest. I can read it, can find us a place to stay, to wait out the night while the Saxons search futile for us.”

Thor nods. There is so much to Loki he does not know, so many things that he forgets his brother can do. 

“Lead on,” he says. 

Loki turns, passing just under a great oak that is as wide as Thor’s tent is long. The forest beyond it is darker than the trail that they’ve just left, the trees closer. There are tendrils of vines that reach out to him and brush his arms. They pass through thicker brush, then leap into more open forest. Thor can feel gnarled roots under his feet, and branches crack as he passes by. Loki is quieter, moving through the woods on feet that are much lighter now than they were at the beginning of the run. 

They cross a small stream, the water bubbling and splashing across the forest floor. Loki veers left, up a short hill. At the top they break out from the trees into a tiny clearing. It is no bigger across than the height of two men. Loki pauses beneath another of the great trees. He sinks down to rest against its bole. 

“We can rest here,” he says. 

Thor sinks down next to Loki, panting. They have run for miles, through woods so dense that he would never have passed their borders. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. 

“I knew you would come,” Loki says. “It did take a while, though.”

“I searched the camp from top to bottom,” Thor says. He glances over at Loki. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss you.”

“You found me,” Loki laughs. “You looked and found me.” His voice is bright, almost joyful. Thor looks over at him again, catching a grin of pure delight. His eyes pass down Loki’s body, over the rip in his tunic, the missing belt, the knives that have vanished from their place at his side. He glances at Loki’s legs, taking in the soft wool of his leggings. Suddenly Thor’s eyes stop. He looks back up to Loki’s waist, to where his tunic and leggings are tented over what can only be a hard cock. 

“How in the world-” he starts. 

Loki laughs again, a pale white hand reaching out to cup his cock through his clothes. 

“This? How am I still stiff? How am I hard as a sword?”

Thor bites his lip, tasting blood from the split. He doesn’t answer. He is not supposed to be watching this. Loki is not supposed to be talking about this. He says nothing. 

Loki slips his fingers under his tunic, and then, in a single swift movement, bares himself to Thor. Thor thinks that he should object, but all he can see is the soft rose of Loki’s cock in the moonlight. He’s never seen Loki like this. Never seen him so shamelessly hard, showing himself off like this. 

“It’s the excitement,” Loki says. Thor starts. He’d almost forgotten to breathe, watching Loki. He has never thought to be fascinated by this part of his brother before, but now that he’s watching Loki fondle the shining head, it seems obvious that he should have been. He has followed Loki around for as long as Loki has not been following him. He has wanted everything else of Loki before. Why not this?

“The danger. The fear.” Loki’s voice is soft, slow. Thor licks his lips as he listens. He wants to look up at Loki’s face, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sweep of Loki’s hand across his cock. “You, swinging your hammer through all of those who wanted to hurt me.”

“Me?” Thor murmurs. He hardly notices his own voice, as caught up as he is in the play of shadow and moonlight on Loki’s bared skin. 

“Your power, Thor. It’s enthralling,” Loki’s voice hisses, a soft whisper that reminds Thor of the night before. Thor shifts forward a little, watching a glimmer of precome slip from Loki’s cock. “Do you not know?”

“I…” Thor starts, then trails off as Loki begins to move his hand faster over his dick. Loki’s other hand comes up, caressing the head, gathering liquid.

“Do you want a taste?” Loki asks. “You look like you do. You’ve never tasted me before, Thor. Not like this.”

Thor feels like he’s in a dream. A wild fantasy that comes late at night, when one has drunk too much mead and falls into one’s bedroll with mind abuzz. It is as though he has imagined this a thousand times, though he knows he has never once before. He leans in, opening his mouth. Loki extends one long finger. A drop of precome falls onto Thor’s tongue. 

It is as though he has tasted the drink of the gods. Thor reaches forward, trying to reach the rest of Loki’s fingers to suck them clean. Instead, Loki reaches out and cups the back of Thor’s head, pulling him inward.

Thor has his lips wrapped around Loki’s cock before he takes a moment to think. All he wants is to taste more, feel more, have more. He sucks, licking forward and wrapping his lips around Loki’s cock. He has never done this before, yet it is as natural as breathing. Thor slides down Loki’s dick, pressing his face into the dark hair around the base of his cock. He almost chokes, but pulls off just before. 

“Good,” Loki whispers above him. “So good, Thor.” The soft whisper of his voice has grown rough, and his fingers tighten in Thor’s hair. 

Thor presses back down again, sucking hard, seeking more. This is what he was missing, this is what he needs. Not a tumble with Hledis or Geirny or even Fandral. This. Loki fucking his mouth slowly, the moon playing over them the sounds of the forest all around him. 

“My pretty brother,” Loki murmurs. “Do you have any idea how you sounded? Feral, wild. As though you would tear the world apart to get to me.” 

His cock jerks in Thor’s mouth. Thor moans around him, shocked at how good the pressure of Loki’s dick feels inside his mouth. He finds his own hips bucking, his cock hard in his leggings. He cannot bring himself to abandon Loki’s hard cock, though, not even to touch himself. 

“I knew you would be like that. I knew you would do anything for me. Even this, Thor. The great Thor, on his knees. I could fuck you if I wanted. I could put you on your back before me, and you would love it. You will love it, as I will when you do the same to me.”

Thor’s body trembles, his stomach hot. Sweat beads on his forehead at the thought of it. He has never wanted something so much. It seems Loki has not either, because suddenly Loki’s breath grows harsher. 

“And you will love this,” Loki gasps. His cock grows impossibly harder, stretching Thor’s lips wide with its thickness. It pulses, and then Thor tastes the rush of Loki’s come. 

It is like nectar, enticing, drawing him in for more. Loki finally has to pull Thor off, dragging him away by his hair. Thor gasps, shocked, and then feels his own hips bucking, his cock pulsing in time to the pull of Loki’s fingers in his hair. It is the first time he has come like this since he was a teenager; the first time he has felt this wonderful in his whole life. He gasps, collapsing back next to Loki. There is come and blood mixing on his lips, and Thor licks them clean while he pants. 

“Did you like your reward for rescuing me?” Loki asks. He has almost regained that soft whisper that Thor learns, but the ragged edge betrays Loki’s own excitement. 

“Yes,” Thor breathes. It is all he can say. Yes to Loki’s question, yet to his cock, yes to anything Loki wants from him. He has found what he wants, what he has been looking for on every raid, in every place that he has ever been. It is Loki. It always has been.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. PLEASE DO NOT COME AFTER ME FOR THE ANGLO-SAXON. I am only partially competent in reading the language and not a good translator at all. IT IS AN ATTEMPT XD.
> 
> \+ I have had so little time to write fanfic this year, and it is so lovely to post something! I hope to finish the ongoing projects I have some time soon, but not this month. This month I have a major lecture to give, a book chapter to submit, many jobs to apply to, and a play to perform in. 
> 
> +find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/saltandlimes) or [tumblr](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com)


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